Letting Go in the Middle of the Bay

This past weekend, I took my jet ski out on the San Francisco Bay to explore and capture some footage. I had my drone with me, and I ended up getting some rad shots. It felt like one of those days when things just came together.

On my way back to the dock, I decided to squeeze in one last flight to capture the city skyline. I set up a makeshift landing pad—something I’ve done before without a problem. But this time, the drone clipped the edge on landing, flipped over, and sank before I could grab it.

Just like that—it was gone.

At first, I was pretty upset. Not just about the drone, but the footage. It felt like a waste. All those moments I had captured—now sitting somewhere at the bottom of the bay. But after a few deep breaths and some honest self-talk, I realized: the footage may be gone, but I still have it downloaded in my mind. And that can’t be lost.

I replayed the whole day in my head on the ride home. The way the morning light hit the water. The skyline. The calmness I felt when I was out there, just floating in the middle of it all. I started to realize that maybe the real footage isn’t what I record with a camera—it’s what I take with me in moments like that. And that’s something no accident, or no mistake can take away.

This little accident turned into a quiet reminder that nothing we have is guaranteed—not our gear, our plans, or even the things we work hard to create. It’s all temporary. But presence? Gratitude? The way we choose to show up when something goes wrong? That’s what lasts. And honestly, that lesson feels more valuable than any clip I lost that day.

Letting go isn’t easy. But I’m learning—slowly—that it’s part of the ride.